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by While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend



Series: Gotham One Shots - all seasons [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Author may have weakness for sleepy fics, Canon Continuation, Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Foreshadowing, Frankly they're so exhausted, Friendship, Harvey and Alfred: Voices of reason?, Jim Gordon & Bruce Wayne Friendship, Let Them Sleep, M/M, Men on missions, Mostly POV Bruce Wayne, No Man's Land, Other, POV Jim Gordon, Power Dynamics, Protectors of Gotham are dead on thier feet, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred of the Gordon kind, Sleep Deprivation, This starts serious and ends sweet and tame, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend/pseuds/While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend
Summary: Hey glorious Gothamites and other friends!Felt a need to do some one shots, what can I say. Gotham is always on my brain, so bite me. I have no idea how many one shots will happen here, but I'm not finding enough time or mental strength to put out the big chapters in my other fics just yet, so please let me offer this  in the meantime :). Each story will start with an actual scene from the Gotham TV series and deviate from there as I imagine it could or maybe even should have XD.We start with Jim / Bruce friendship and fluff, he he XD.
Series: Gotham One Shots - all seasons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571512
Kudos: 19





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**Author's Note:**

> Season 5, Episode 7, "Ace Chemicals": The very short scene between Bruce Wayne and Jim Gordon at the Precinct continued...! (Recap: Alfred is missing (kidnapped as we recall), Bruce is desperately searching for him. He's dead on his feet. An equally tired Jim confronts his friend, urging him to rest up.)
> 
> Bruce & Jim friendship that ends with sleepiness and precious care-taking, YAAY!!!! (In my humble opinion, there is FAR too little of that on the market). Really love thier friendship and how so many scenes have a bit of foreshadowing for how that friendship will evolve into the complicated partnership within the Nolan films.  
> If you like what you see, you'd make my days very bright with a comment or a kudo. Hope you enjoy!!

It’s been five days since Alfred Pennyworth disappeared.

And it’s been 125 days… since the bridges blew.

Jim has a sinking feeling he may be the last person still counting.

They’re tired, all of them. Tired and starved. Harvey can’t remember the last time he ate. Jim can’t remember that either – or when he last slept.

On a tentative guess, may have been Wednesday. Today is Monday.

Fending off the cloying sense of hopelessness that rises up every time the government postpones the date of the rescue operation is tiring out even the strongest of them.

Something turns outright painful in Jim’s chest when he sees Bruce pouring over the maps as Harvey and him descend the Precinct’s stairs.

 _How far he’s come from the twelve-year-old boy shuddering on the fire escape in the pouring rain_ , Jim thinks. _How much he’s grown to be a reliable ally, even though he’s just seventeen._ _God, the kid is already taller than I am. Maybe in more ways than one._

By the looks of it, Bruce is well on his way to self-destruction though. Another man who never sleeps, focused on completing his mission. Jim knows. All too well does he know about the thrill of being able to drive himself beyond mortal endurance.

He asks his friend: “How’s Bruce?”, pondering what to do about this tendency in the billionaire.

Harvey throws him a glance, eyes catching the light of the gothic lamps hanging down from the cavern-like structures above. The older detective huffs and nods his head towards the figure staring down at the map. They come to a standstill on the stairs, still a few paces away from the bustling bullpen below.

“He’s been pulling double shifts on the search parties. Kid’s dead on his feet,” Harvey answers, somewhat wearily, and side-eyes him. What Harvey doesn’t say is that he knows _Jim_ is dead on his feet, as well. Jim is relieved the man decides against using this chance to nag at him. He starts forward purposefully, ignores the stab of Harvey’s eyes on him as his partner hangs back, giving him and Bruce a bubble of privacy to speak.

Jim studies Bruce as he plods through the sea of desks. He takes notice of all the details: The slender fingers crushing down against the paper, the grimness in his face, the completely black attire – and when exactly did that choice of wardrobe happen? - sweater so tight that it might as well be a body painting, showing off all the kid’s ribs.

Bruce is leaning forward, tense as a bowstring, all focus on the map. He doesn’t look up, just seeming to know that it is Gordon who has come to his side when he speaks: “I want to search this area next. There are whole blocks of abandoned buildings.”

He doesn’t move at all as the Captain steps up to the table. Jim feels a sad sort of pride tugging at his lips, but he suppresses it. “I’ll get a squad right on it - , “ he begins to answer – but Bruce isn’t having that, and cuts in briskly: “Give me five minutes.”

Bruce moves to turn away, but Jim’s hand is suddenly wrapped around his arm, faster than the younger man expected. Jim drops his gaze even as his grip tightens. Bruce sees something _haggard_ in the man’s face, then it’s gone as the Captain takes a breath.

Jim gets it. No way he can let the kid go out like this, though, not with that haunted determination that Jim himself should be a walking trademark for.

“You’re not going out,” he states, gentle but firm. Bruce flares up in his face instantly: “No! Jim!! –, “– but its Gordon’s turn to talk over him. “You need your rest. I’m not cutting you out – but I need you sharp. Not a liability.” He stresses that last part.

They’re standing close now, breathing each other’s air. Jim’s eyes are tinged with concern. The jutting of his chin and the hint of teeth tell Bruce that his mentor is being serious. Enough to slap handcuffs on him if he resists, but covertly begging him not to force his hand. Bruce also senses the tiniest hint of fear in Jim that Bruce could overpower him, right here, if he really wanted to.

For a second, Bruce Wayne is torn, tracking Gordon’s face.

He knows his strength is waxing as his mentor’s is waning – the moon shadowing the sun, following it out of the sky. There will come a future where the delicate balance between them will shift in his favor – but that time hasn’t come, Bruce decides, because he doesn’t _want_ it to be time. It’s not like he wants to go against Jim without good reason. He wants to keep their forces combined for as long as possible, though their methods are slowly flaring apart in No Man’s Land, and both of them know it.

Besides, in this moment Jim is right. If Alfred were here, he’d also have a thing or two to say to him. He’s desperate to hit the streets again to search for his surrogate father, but is he in fighting order like this?

 _Likely_ _not..._

_Blimey, Master Bruce, look at you! Made a right damn mess of yourself, haven’t you? Have you learnt nothing? You don’t go out into the bloody night all alone if you’re too exhausted to walk straight!_

_Yes, he’d say something like that_ , Bruce thinks, heart heavy.

He looks down, breaking eye contact. He senses the warmth of Jim’s hand though the fabric of his sweater, a warning and a consolation in one.

“I just don’t understand what could have happened,” he rasps - and suddenly, he feels… drained beyond his years, inexorably _tired_.

Jim huffs softly. “Neither do I,” he replies honestly. The pressure on Bruce’s arm builds.

Their gazes meet, Bruce’s dark eyes almost piercing, Jim’s quietly cynical.

The left corner of the Captain’s mouth lifts, maybe an expression of how very aware he is that he’s playing the role Harvey shoulders with him all the time, how hypocritical this is, for Jim Gordon, of all people, to hold back Bruce Wayne from his mission.

“I know that Alfred Pennyworth can take care of himself.”

Jim speaks calmly, but the lift of his eyebrows and the hesitation in the look he sends him speaks of insecurities whether Bruce is still willing to listen to him. Maybe Jim’s thinking he can only keep the upper hand if he starts begging, _because he’s not nearly at full strength himself_ … Bruce realizes.

He swallows, deeply reluctant to step back, even if it’s only a few hours. Anything could happen in a few hours. This is No Man’s Land, the worst face Gotham has ever shown them.

“I’ll send for you if I hear anything,” Jim hastens to offer, sensing his reluctance, but hoping he’s almost won him over.

For one second, it sounds like a fair offer, a sensible suggestion from an experienced cop to a rookie vigilante – it’s not though. Now that Bruce sees the fine cracks in his counterpart, he can’t push his fear away that this may just be Jim falling for his death wish after what happened at Haven. Not Captain Gordon, keeping it all together, but a desperately tired Jim, silently willing for it all to end, as long as he’s the only one getting hurt.

_Let me take over, kid. I can roam the streets while you rest up. Doesn’t matter if I get shot, does it? You’ll be fine without me. But you won’t be fine without Alfred._

_Let me die doing the right thing for once. Please. Please don’t let me keep on living in this hell of a City, constantly failing people – especially you._

That’s what Jim isn’t saying aloud. Bruce is so convinced that his chest locks up. His next breath feels like breathing against a leaden weight.

He _can’t_ say yes to that. He _won’t_ tolerate it.

_What kind of a man do you want to be, Master Bruce?_

Bruce nods slightly, and he sees relief in Jim before he blurts out: “One condition.”

For a split second, Jim’s expression falters, but then he’s nodding.

“ _Neither_ of us goes out tonight. Let the search party take the lead.”

Gordon frowns at the notion, eyes hardening.

_Can’t let my men go out without me -_

“Bruce -,” Jim growls, hand falling away as if he’s burnt himself.

“Tell me, when was the last time you slept?” Bruce interjects, wondering why it’s suddenly so important to catch that receding hand in mid air with both of his own. 

“That’s not -,” Jim starts, then stops. Gordon’s frown deepens as his gaze drops like a stone to their linked hands. Interestingly, he doesn’t pull away. He just freezes, eyes tracking back up to Bruce’s face. Jim stares at him, mouth a line – no, Bruce can’t quite describe what he sees in that look, but he knows he’s right.

Both of them need a rest, _badly_.

 _They must look odd, with how close they’re standing in each other’s space_ , Bruce thinks. With the way he’s clutching at Jim’s hand. _Is this even appropriate? But… he can’t let Jim do this. He can’t – how dare Jim assume he’s worth so little to him? He’s…. well, he’s like his favorite uncle, a close friend, a kindred spirit. He can’t lose Jim, just like he can’t lose Alfred._

_Does Jim really think Bruce wouldn’t care if he disappeared as well?_

_Are all grown-ups this stupid?_

No one is staring at them. Except the man on the stairs.

Bruce squeezes Jim’s hand. “Jim, I asked you a question.”

He can see Jim wanting to say _“It’s not the same thing, Bruce”_ , or _“Look, I’m the grown-up, I know what I’m doing”_ , but he _isn’t_ saying it. Because Jim isn’t actually stupid – he knows Bruce will counter all that nonsense effortlessly.

And now the silence is becoming a tad too long. One of Bruce’s hands loosens its grip on Jim’s hand, wrapping around the man’s lower arm. Bruce is surely mistaken, but for a second he thinks he sees the tiniest shiver travel up under the sleeve of Jim’s incredibly well-maintained suit jacket all the way up the shoulder blade.

“Jim?” Bruce insists.

The Captain gives this almost inaudible sigh. He’s still gazing at him, but there’s something glassy creeping into his cobalt orbs. His shoulders seem to be sinking, a losing battle.

“… don’t really remember,” Jim mutters out darkly, self-hatred bubbling. “A few days.”

Bruce nods encouragingly, trying not to show how much this is fazing him. How difficult it is for him to play this role. “That’s a while,” he says, thumb stroking gently across the smooth material of Jim’s sleeve. Jim’s eyelashes waver, before he seems to pull himself together with effort.

They eye each other. Jim swallows uncomfortably, trying to think of something to say. He’s unwilling to back down, too. It’s almost funny. 

“You’re right, Jim. I _do_ feel very tired,” Bruce hears himself continue, like from a long distance away. “I’m sorry. It’s just so unlike Alfred to disappear like this. I'm so worried, I forgot to think about how I could put people in danger, going out like this.”

He swears he hears Jim Gordon grind his teeth.

“Thank you for holding me back, reminding me. It’s a wise move. Probably the search party is better suited to take over – still sharp,” Bruce adds, voice lowering, looking Gordon straight in the eye. “Even though it’s hard _to_ _step_ _down_.”

Jim throws him this last, shrewd look – _dammit kid, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, please don’t say it_ – Bruce says it anyway, going in for the kill: “I’ll try and catch some rest. No one can afford to be a liability, not when there are so few of us left. Don’t you agree?”

He feels Jim almost swaying with the blow, so he grips him tighter, holding him in place. A helpless, choked groan escapes Gordon, and the last light of determination seems to fade out of his eyes.

“… I do,” Jim ventures out hollowly.

Bruce releases his hold. Jim tethers in place, then steps back, eyes dark.

The younger man isn’t sure if it’s pain, anger or shame playing out beneath the surface. He waits, hoping he hasn’t just made the death wish stronger.

“… okay. Okay, fine. I’ll just let the search party know which sector to search next…,” Jim says tonelessly. “Then I’ll show you where you can crash, upstairs. We’ll fix something up…,”

“I’ll wait here,” Bruce tells him.

_If you sneak out, I’m coming after you. If you stay and rest, I’ll rest, too. That’s the deal, Jim._

The Captain looks him up and down with those dark eyes, almost in a new-found respect. His mouth quirks faintly as he grabs the map from the desk and clears his throat.

“Right. You do that.”

Bruce watches as Jim plods over to the search unit, gathers them together around him to relay the information they need. At one point, Bruce detects smirks appearing on the men’s hardened faces as they look to their Captain. It’s a pity Jim’s back is turned – somehow, Bruce is curious what expression the search party must have just been privy to. 

It’s only a few minutes, but Bruce feels ten years older by the time Gordon returns, straightening his shoulders. “All done. They’re going to comb through those blocks, street by street, and take another team as back-up. It’s bordering on the dark zone, so it’s best to be careful,” the Captain says. It’s almost normal, but there’s this hollow glassiness in Jim’s eyes as he blinks, and Bruce doesn’t like it.

“Sounds good,” Bruce says, maybe a little too dryly for his actual age. They start walking out of the Bullpen. Bullock seems to have disappeared at some point. Bruce wonders how much of the conversation the older detective had watched before turning away.

“Thanks, Jim. I know you’re just watching my back," he adds as they climb the stairs. Jim glances at him. “Any time, kid,” he says, and Bruce feels warm when Jim grants him this tiny, fatherly smile.

Now that he’s had a bit of time to consider his actions, he is grateful to Gordon. Bruce has hope that Jim will feel thankful too, at least by tomorrow, should they both be able to catch a wink of sleep. Bruce doesn’t know if he can. He’s still worried about Alfred, after all. What could have possibly happened to him? But he feels so tired that his bones smart with it, and he notices with the adrenaline starting to leave his limbs that he’s so _cold_. A few hours sleep can’t be put off for much longer, it seems. He’s not going to useful to anyone like this. Better rest up, even though it’s not going to be easy.

Jim is basically dragging his feet as he walks ahead. He must be feeling much the same.

Jim leads him through a part of the Precinct Bruce hasn’t consciously seen before – and then, they’re passing through a corridor and around a bend.

“It’s here,” Jim points out with a dutiful little nod, opening a door. Jim plods into the darkness, and then there’s a circle of light from the lamp in the corner next to the armchair, illuminating a sparsely furnished room.

Bruce looks around. Jim is looking at him again with those tired, glassy eyes.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Well.

There’s a bed, just barely broad enough to be considered a double, neatly made up. The sheets and blankets are faintly yellowed, but seem clean enough. The pillows look lumpy. There are more blankets piled on that armchair to the left, and next to that, the lamp. The lampshade is a purple color, and the whole lamp stands a bit skew on the floorboards. There is no rug, no carpet to offer any homey feel. A heavy wooden box serves as a makeshift footrest for the armchair.

There’s a window, so encrusted with dirt from the outside that no curtain is needed. He hears the faint patter of rain. Bruce sees a sink in the far corner of the room. A dresser stands next to it. The top of the dresser is taken up by dishes and glasses as well as cutlery, cans of food and several large bottles (Whiskey, mostly empty). Last, Bruce sees a clothes rack, containing shirts (different sizes), suits (different styles, with three blue suits neatly rowed up at the end) and next to it – an ironing board.

The whole room isn’t unwelcoming, but it has a dejected air to it. Also, it’s really small, the few things in it taking up almost all the floor space. It’s neat and clean, though, and ten times safer than anything else Bruce has seen outside Wayne Manor. Still… this room is about the size of the smallest walk-in cupboard at home.

“What’s this?” he ventures carefully. “A guest room?”

“Not exactly. But it’s the best thing we can offer,” Jim grunts, rubbing his neck. “We kind of… threw what we had together. The bed is new. Before, it was just the blankets and the floor.”

“Who sleeps here?” Bruce asks, taking in the bottles, the ironing board, and the box, undoubtably containing a measly stash of weapons.

“Well, uh, a few colleagues. We take it in shifts...,” Jim looks rather nervous, maybe it’s the dim light of the lamp. “I’m sorry if it’s not… well, what you’re used to, Bruce. Do you think it will be alright?”

Bruce feels truly touched that Jim is apparently stressing if this modest abode is good enough for the Wayne heir. He makes sure to nod and smile. “Yes. It’s perfectly adequate. Thank you.”

He’s tired enough to sleep in a dumpster – were it not for his constantly circling thoughts. Of course, this is fine.

Jim nods. “Great.”

“You sleep here too?”

Gordon glances at him, blinking slowly, and Bruce thinks the man looks ready to faint. “Yeah. Sometimes,” he says.

Bruce huffs and sits down on the bed, taking off his shoes. Now that he’s out of the bustling part of the Precinct, the quiet and the tiredness is sinking in quickly. He hides a yawn. Jim closes the door and turns back to him, looking away as Bruce peels himself out of his skin-tight trousers and all but crawls under the covers.

“You catch some sleep, okay? I’ll make sure to tell people the room is taken for tonight. Rest up, you deserve a break,” Jim says, and then he’s opening the door –

“Where are you going?”

Jim halts in the door frame, Bruce can’t see his expression in the dimness.

“Don’t worry – I’m staying at the Precinct. You catch some rest. I’ll be in my office.”

“Is there a bed in your office?” Bruce almost snaps. Probably that’s earned him the raised eyebrow.

The figure in the door frame gives this world-weary groan. Then Gordon is barreling back into the room. “ _No_ , Bruce, but I –,“

“I’m going out, right _now_ , if you don’t stay here.”

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Bruce, come on. Have all kinds of things to do. I’m staying at the Precinct, alright, but I can’t just -,”

“ _You_ _have_ _to_ _rest_ , Jim,” Bruce cuts in, jumping back out of the bed and stalking over, getting right up in the man’s face. “You’re running on fumes!”

Gordon stiffens, then jerks to move back, but Bruce puts out an arm, keeping the door closed behind Jim’s back and half-pinning him in place. Jim glares at him weakly, and it’s then Bruce realizes he’s looking _up_ at him, because Bruce is one or two inches taller, now. He hadn't noticed that, before.

“I’m _fine_ …,” Jim growls, trying to push Bruce away, but it’s easy to keep him pinned down.

“No, you’re _not_. Neither am I, for that matter,” Bruce states. He lets go of Jim slowly. “Only if you rest up, right here where I can _see_ you, then I’ll stay.”

Bruce is sure there is going to be an argument.

They both glare at each other for a good twenty seconds.

Then Jim’s glare just fizzles out under a jaw-cracking yawn. He seems to sway slightly, hand fumbling with the door handle to keep steady.

“I _can’t_ ,” Jim finally presses out, and there’s so much despair and self-hatred there, it makes Bruce feel ill.

“You _can_ ,” he says, taking hold of Jim’s hand. “Let me help you.”

And then he’s leading a dazed Jim to the bed. He pushes him to sit down on the edge, and there’s something frail in Jim’s expression as he blinks up at him.

“This isn’t right. You should have the bed,” he whispers, blue eyes strangely huge. “Please, I’ll – I’ll take the chair.”

Bruce sighs. “Okay, if you insist. You take the chair, Jim. But you’ll try and rest. It’s a deal?”

If Jim weren’t so incredibly tired Bruce knows he wouldn’t be such a push-over in this situation. But this Jim is fading fast, yawning and blinking way too slowly, so all he does is nod at Bruce and tries to loosen the knot of his tie.

Bruce helps when he sees Jim struggling with coordinating his tired fingers. Gently he pulls the tie away from his mentor’s neck. Jim’s head lolls forward into his shoulder with a snuffling sound.

“You see how tired you are, Jim?” he whispers into the other man’s ear, stifling his own yawn. “Nap time.”

“Mnnhffhh…,” Jim manages. “S-smart ass...,”

Bruce smiles.

With his very last strength, Jim is stumbling over to the armchair as if drunk.

Yes, it's a deal. Bruce waits as the exhausted detective takes off his service weapon, dumping it next to the chair. Gordon next shrugs out of his suit jacket, hanging it over one corner of the armchair, and toes out of his shoes. Tiredly, Bruce crawls back into the bed, and lies down on his side, watching Jim ooze back into the armchair with a low sound of exhaustion. Jim stays like that, leaned back in the armchair, legs splayed out before him. He is still in his shirt, the top buttons undone, and he’s still wearing his pants and socks.

Bruce waits a moment, watching the blinks slow even further.

Sighing, swaying a little himself, he pads over to Jim, who turns his head up to focus on his face. He doesn’t struggle, legs completely limp as Bruce props them up on the box. He drapes a blanket around Jim’s shoulders and covers the man’s body with another one. Gordon gives a soft hum as he pulls the blanket around himself gratefully.

“T-thanks…,” Jim slurs, blinking up at him in the dimness of the one circle of light. Heavy drowsiness is pulling at his eyelashes, and, just for a blink, Bruce sees something incredibly fond in those blue eyes before they finally close. “G’night…,”

Slowly, the Captain curls into the warmth of the blankets, sinking into the large armchair, while Bruce stands tall over him, shadows draping over his shoulders.

“Good night, Jim,” Bruce whispers. Without a sound, he folds his lithe body under the covers of the bed and presses his nose into the pillow.

_That’s right, mate. Rest is the best thing for yer both…_

It’s what Alfred would say, Bruce thinks and snuggles down with a sigh.

_Alfred, be safe. Hold out a little longer._

Tomorrow, Bruce will be out and looking for his surrogate father once more.

If Alfred is like a father and teacher, then Jim is like a favorite uncle. He's a _friend_ , one of the closest. Bruce doesn't desert those. 

For tonight, Jim and him are going catch some rest, deep in the innards of the Precinct.

Curled up and safe in their shared cave.

They need all the rest they can get, to have the strength to take on the hell outside again come morning.

Bruce hears a faint snore from the chair, taking comfort from the sound. He lets his eyes fall shut.

Then he’s asleep as well, warm and safe under the worn covers. 

Dreaming of Gotham’s future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and good night :)
> 
> (Update: If you guys want, I have a head canon how this scene could continue through the night, and what Harvey might say in the morning... ;). But you'd have to let me know if you're interested.)


End file.
